124 EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
smooth water. As with tinkling sounds the 
sources of streams burst their icy fetters, so the 
rills of music begin to flow and swell the general 
choir of spring. Memorable is the warm light 
of the spring sun on russet fields in the morn¬ 
ing. 
P. M. To Ball’s Hill along river. My com¬ 
panion tempts me to certain licenses of speech, 
i. 0 ., to reckless and sweeping expressions which 
I am wont to regret that I have used. I find 
that I have used more harsh, extravagant, and 
cynical expressions concerning mankind and in¬ 
dividuals than I intended. I find it difficult 
to make to him a sufficiently moderate state¬ 
ment. I think it is because I have not his sym¬ 
pathy in my sober and constant view. He asks 
for a paradox, an eccentric statement, and too 
often I give it to him. 
Saw some small ducks, teal or widgeons. 
This great expanse of deep blue water, deeper 
than the sky, why does it not blue my soul, as 
of yore ? It is hard to soften me now. 
The time was when this great blue scene would 
have tinged my spirit more. 
Now is the time to look for Indian relics, the 
sandy fields being just bared. 
I stand on the high lichen-covered and col¬ 
ored (greenish) hill beyond Abner Buttrick’s, 
I go further east and look across the meadows 
